Twirl the Flagon — Group 4 Summer Camp '22

Interacting with @Henry Knight NPC

Gray had been sitting silently and glared at others who were receiving their dares. In his mind, he was thinking of how @Santario Martrin was doing with her group. It wouldn't surprise him if she had kissed a few boys already, not in a bad way but to follow the game and enjoy herself. If he was also going to be kissing people, they both couldn't be mad at each other. This was probably the one and only exception where they'd be able to kiss other people. It was a game after all, none of it was serious.

Watching on, he looked at the bottle land on him from another outside student. But this one, he had met before on the ship not too long ago. Seeing him wonder over, he gave him a single nod as he sat down before him "Indeed so..." he grumbled after he called him Peter again. This time he couldn't be bothered to correct him, it wasn't too bad of a problem. Seeing Charles motion to his lips, he knew from that point he wanted a kiss on the lips.

Gray had not kissed another boy and didn't have any urge to considering he was straight. Even so, it didn't mean he was totally against it. Without replying, Percival saw him close his eyes and lean forwards slightly. With a roll of his eyes, the pureblood leaned forward himself and put a hand on the boys cheek. He pressed his lips against Charles and kept it there for a few seconds, closing his eyes and choosing to put some effort behind it to make it worthwhile.

Finally, Gray pulled back and stared at him for a few seconds, a hand soon patting him on the shoulder "That's how you do a real kiss" he said dryly, motioning his head to the left of him.

"Now, bugger off," he said nonchalantly, sitting back in his seat to have a look at what was going on around him. Charles was far better than the last person, but he was from a different school. In his books, those prats didn't count.

@Cassandra Ironwoods as Ronnie @Aurelia Notrésvace as Hadrian

@Henry Knight as Charles

Haley wasn't expecting a kiss, maybe a hug or a handshake but a pat on the shoulder? She really hadn't expected that. With her eyebrows drawn together, she watched the boy pat her shoulder. "Um, thank you?" she tried to put on a smile, "I guess." She murmured before turning and walking back to her seat. As she did so she looked at Charles with wide eyes and a look that said "What was that about?"

"Shut up!" she laughed at Charles comment and rolled her eyes. "Like your kiss with a girl was that much better." She teased him back before turning her attention back to the game.

Like Charles, Haley also watched Ronnie from time to time, he was one of the players she wouldn't think twice about kissing or not. But Ronnie would not be the only player she would kiss but luck was not on her side as she spun the bottle and it landed again on an unknown boy.

Haley had no problem kissing others, of course there were people she would rather kiss and there were people she really wouldn't kiss at all but by now she had got used to the game again and was becoming a little more relaxed. She stood up and walked to her next destination. "Hey there." She greeted him briefly, the two had never met before. "Whatever you decide, a hug, a handshake, a kiss or just nothing. All of that but please don't pat my shoulder." She joked and shrugged her shoulders. She waited for his reaction and a decision before she would do one of the said things or nothing at all and sit back down in her seat.

Owl / DM for Interaction

When Olive provided her name after the Castelobruxo student asked of her, Ronnie nodded his head and make a mental note to remember her name. If only Olive told Ronnie a bit sooner, Ronnie might be landed his lips on the younger girl. Well it’s only a game, right? Kiss me if you wish she said.

But alas, Ronnie decided to kiss her cheek this round out of respect for her. When both of them pulled back, Ronnie saw the girl's face become red and a tint of blush appears on her face. Ronnie smiled at what he saw. The Duellist often time has that effect on people. "Perhaps I take that offer if the bottle landed on you again,"Ronnie told Olive and winked at Olive.

After that, the game continued on. He saw that Charles share a kiss with a girl then with a boy. Seeing what was displayed in front of him stirred something deep inside of Ronnie. A pang of hurt and other mixed feelings he never felt before. Ronnie is new to the whole love and romance thing so, at that moment, he did not know what he felt called jealousy.

Then his blue-grey-eyed landed on the girl's shoulder that was being patted. His eyes traveled up and saw Haley's face. Wait! since when Haley was in this game? Ronnie thought to himself. If back then Ronnie has not been torn, he is now. Throughout the camp, Ronnie not just crushes on one person but two.

Who are the lucky people you might ask? It is none other than Charles Alluring and Haley Rose. Ronnie did not know that Charles and Haley share a sibling-like relationship. It will be awkward if the bottle landed either on Charles or Haley. It is a problem he might face later on. But now he had a task to do.

Just like before, Ronnie leaned a bit until his hand can reach the bottle. Once he did, he spun the bottle. The bottle spun and spun and spun. When the bottle is spinning, Ronnie prays to whoever is on high above, it did not land on either Charles or Haley. Not yet anyway. Then the bottle finally stopped after a few centuries later.

When in reality it only happens for some split second or minutes. Ronnie's eyes looked up from the bottle to the boy that is his next victim target. Another unfamiliar face in the litter and one that Ronnie will not see until the next Hogwarts event. Ronnie then stands up from where he was situated and moves temporarily near the redhead boy.

The redhead boy reminds him of a certain bedtime story character that his little sister loves. Peter Pan. The Duellist then smiled up at the boy. "Hello,"Ronnie greeted Jack with his thick English-Portuguese accent. Ronnie contemplated what he will do to the other boy. He is still a bit iffy kissing some random stranger but hugging one is not that bad.

Still, hugging your friend or family member is one thing. To hug someone Ronnie did not know at all can be a bit nerve-wracking. Ronnie is a hugger but to invade the personal space of one, is something Ronnie never did without the other consent. Ronnie then took a deep breath. "I will hug you now,"The Castelobruxo student gives the other boy a small warning.

He opens his arms wide open and leans forward. If Jack allows Ronnie to hug him, Ronnie will do so. But if Jack refuses the hug, feel free to shove Ronnie.

Action attempting to hug Jack Burnett

Interacting With: @Evelynn Decipio & @Marshal Mozor | Mentioning: @Ivy Bellamy & @Percival Gray | Dialogue Hex: #143314

To twirl a flagon, Leonard mused, was an awful misnomer for a cotillion of betrayal. As paraphrased from the most romantic philosopher ever who had totally not gone and gotten the type of love totally lacking from romantic desires named after him, nobody could ever be absolutely correct in their assessment of the world around them. There would be flickering flame to cast shadows against cavern walls, there would be chains that kept one from bolting when the shadow turned to the curly-haired silhouette of Percival Gray. He assumed that Plato had been intelligent enough to not have signed up for Spin the Bottle, though, and that Plato would be less inhibited at the prospect of spinning the bottle in a boy’s direction. That was a dialogue for another day.

He wondered, not for the first time and never for the last, what whirled and twirled around in Marshal’s mind if not dragon taming, girls, and he wondered where he fit into the party. Marshal was earnest, and Marshal was honest, but there were always sides to people that were shown in some situations and hidden away in others. That around certain girls, perhaps the types to think themselves above these activities when their parents could betroth them to someone who didn’t think peanut butter sandwiches were magical, Marshal would glide and gleam elegantly, charmingly. That around him, the one who had, indeed, actually showed up and the one who kept on showing up in spite of either boy’s better judgement, he had to be different. That his company had to be special, speeding up the tune to something wonderfully chaotic and sporadic and utterly theirs. As of now, they could only waltz around to the melodious music of melodramatic puckerings and underlying cacophony that may have been entirely orchestrated by his own mind.

He probably would’ve quit summer camp the moment Marshal made it clear he wasn’t attending, and he probably would’ve quit twirling the awful, awful flagon if he knew he’d have to convince Marshal he’d voluntarily kissed someone during the game without a direct eye witness. He probably should have quit existence as a whole the moment he saw Marshal ask for directions to adventure, as advised his premature case of hypertension, but he didn’t, and he supposed that was that. That was him, signing the rights away to all his emotions and future positions of employment. He rolled his eyes at the Gryffindor’s opening comments, at the insistence that there was anything to miss out on other than the generous giving of germs in the game of lip-locking, but there was something of a light in it that only Marshal could shine in no matter how disingenuous his reassurances could get.

“Of course I’d show up, you’re…” he trailed off, confounded by the multitude of mortifying routes he’d just paved for that sentence. What, was he going to admit to his best mate–worse, to himself– that he’d joined to prove? He’d been trying as hard as possible to avoid floundering about in front of strangers and schoolmates alike, and just as Marshal did, he’d ruined all his best mate’s plans by making him get a life. He shook himself back into speaking, an uncandid quip shoving itself out of his mouth to make some coherent sound. “Look, as long as I get to show you what you’ve been missing out on by not exploring the lore of wizarding aglets, I’m fine with anything.”

Except, as was a case with so much evidence behind it that it was a punishment in its own right to not have been imprisoned, Leonard Oaksworth was not fine with anything. He was not fine with everything, albeit with temporary exceptions that were more fleeting than his desire to be in Gray’s personal space, and he was not fine with the bottle snapping off his impressive intentions. As some other members of the group had wisely (now a synonym of boringly, for reckless disregard of consent and/or hag cooties apparently got points of coolness among peers) declined to do more than a kiss on the cheek or a seemingly uncomfortable hug or an incredibly intimate pat on the shoulder, Leonard gained an equally temporary sense of vindication. It was unlikely that with the amount of attendees everyone would know each other, and it was unlikelier that anyone but Marshal and an assorted collection of redheads sans Burnett and the shoulder-patter would like-like each other.

And then Percival Gray was using his cakehole to sigh and snark for reasons unknown. Did he want Leonard to dive passionately into actions best reserved for a hundredth date in what was basically their first meeting in this sort of setting? Did he want Leonard to declare his undying love once and for all, getting on one knee and proposing a shotgun engagement and elopement? Did he want to have fun? Unlikelier and unlikelier did the rabbit hole go, and more and more did he wish the flagon had pointed at anyone else.

“That was the most passionate kiss anyone’s received from me in a lifetime, Percival,” he informed the other with the unimpressed quirk of an eyebrow. Some people were just so unappreciative of what they were given, and while he supposed it was standardised Snape code to try and stoke the flames of emotional sensation as high and hot as possible, he reckoned a more appropriate reaction to being spared from locking lips with Leonard Oaksworth was an effusive expression of gratitude complete with song and dance. Didn’t Gray have a girlfriend or boyfriend or a something–which, Merlin behold, people his age were dating, how long had he been crashed into the romantic learning curve–to satisfy his salacious desires? In any case, he hadn’t broken his unspoken (perhaps unknown, but that was a whole canning factory’s worth of worms he’d rather have opened on his gravestone) pact with Burnett to tell nothing but the truth with nothing but a fact or two left in the fine print. Ink on a cardbook book cover made not for the most scandalous method of kissing practice, and he was fairly certain that the refusal to keep bookmarks firmly in its pages had been a direct protest against ever repeating the incident.

Then came Ivy Bellamy’s turn. Ivy Bellamy, a source of that was so devoted to staying at Evelynn’s side she’d managed a percentage of beauty equal to her borderline Gable-level bosom friend’s and a position on the Quidditch team for forever. Ivy Bellamy, the best mate who was certainly handling any sort of identity crisis better than he was. Ivy Bellamy, who, against all odds and evens, had never been considered a remote possibility for the title of Marshal’s Conceptualised Girlfriend. And Ivy Bellamy chose to kiss Marshal on the cheek before hugging him, and Marshal hugged back like Ivy was the world’s softest pillow. He frowned at the action. He frowned even deeper at his frowning, and panic began to trip over his rehearsed act when he found that he couldn’t figure out the basis for either. He, ever eloquent and an absolute expert at circumlocutory mental chronicling, left speechless when searching for a singular sentence to begin his self-centred soliloquy on the apparent finite nature of friendship and the cheapness at which hugs, lengthy ones that were followed by at that, were given and received. It was an impressive feat, and he would have been impressed if he wasn’t suddenly questioning everything about reality. Eh? indeed, Mozor, except his ‘eh?’s were now forming a chorus of questions he couldn’t hope to answer.

It was only a kiss on the cheek and only another hug, and Leonard suspected that only he would be so stupid so as to not have read between the womanising lines beforehand. Forget the Hound of the Baskervilles, he’d have to scrounge up every chronicle he could about The Golden Retriever of the Bellamies. Did Marshal like Ivy? He hadn’t shirked her presence in any manner particularly telling of a grudge, and they’d definitely shared moments up in the air that he couldn’t be privy to courtesy of his cowardice. Did Ivy like Marshal? The moment Marshal was unlikable to any would be the aftermath of Armageddon, true, but it just felt wrong. How would Marshal and Ivy even function as a unit, as a couple whose names and faces got smashed together on a regular, consensual basis? As in, welcome back standards, you were dearly missed; Ivy hadn’t shrieked and ran from Leonard when he’d rambled on in the library and Marshal had been willingly complimenting him since his first year. Any sort of intimacy with a person who could stand him had to be impossible, and the unrelenting electron that was him had to be enough to ruin any spark between the pair.

Did he not want Marshal to like Ivy? Did he not want to see Marshal be comfortable with someone he’d obviously fit well with? How was he supposed to make sense of any of that if not with Marshal himself? He desperately wanted to cease his singing of this pathetically desperate song of self-catastrophising. It was searing his throat more than the thirteen separate occasions of toothbrushing he’d took part in over the day’s course, and after years of being a passable best mate, he wasn’t ruining it for some ridiculous party game for the glandurlarly excited. The hugging, glandurlarly excited. As his turn came back around, the boy spun the bottle with as much force as he could manage, which meant the wind did most of the work while his hopes shrivelled up and his regrets bloated up the sensible part of his brain. It clinked for a century, it seemed, and he’d looked back to Marshal as many times as his neck could stand in order to further figure out the relationship between him and Ivy. He wouldn’t have any luck, because he never had any luck, and he probably should’ve just hexed Gray to get himself kicked out–

For lack of a more flattering descriptor, he looked as bewildered as he felt, staring in unison with the bottle’s target at the arbitrator of their fates. Would this too be an instance of the karmic pendulum on which he resided, torturing him with opportunities he couldn’t pass up coming alongside consequences he’d pass away from? No matter. It never mattered, because the opportunity was right there, and if there was anyone who taught him to take the opportunities that were right there, it was the boy sitting right next to him and most definitely telling him to go for it. He could finally paint the portrait he’d convinced himself he’d wanted every moment of the 28th of August. It was the chance to kiss someone democratically decided to be desirable in front of Marshal Mozor. It was the chance to kiss the girl of his dreams, except usually the girl of his dreams was Emily Dickinson and they didn’t do much more than recite poetry and get eaten by toast-squid hybrids in the passing night. Emily Dickinson’s hair was auburn, anyhow. It could work, he thought, and then he didn’t think much at all.

He pushed himself forth delicately, taking the time to gauge her reaction, any hesitance that he hoped would be quashed by the lowered standards Ilvermorny had, as usual, burrowed far beneath. One second. He noted the citrusy hints of her lips and questioned whether was supposed to be a culinary experience. Two seconds. He willed himself to close his eyes, because while Evelynn was pretty, successfully feigning the deepest affections for her would look prettier. Three seconds. He brushed a hand against the black-and-white plaid of her sleeve. Four seconds. He shifted ever so slightly, bringing them a quarter of a centimetre closer and again thinking that he’d ought to ask whether the fruit was imported from somewhere with more sour soils. He again thought that it would be rude to say that the first thing one thought of after a five-second kiss with Gryffindor’s prefect and Quidditch captain would be dirt.

Five seconds that felt like five flashes of his life and Leonard broke it off as smoothly as he could, silently slithering back to his spot with a courteous smile. It was an experiment, he had his data, and thus the experiment ended. He did not need to think about the way he himself carried no torch for the girl after activity at least 26.5% of yearbook voters would die for, because it was all puppets against cavern walls. He did not need to think about the way he felt more spark between him and his copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray than between him and a real human being, because the mild buzzing of his senses was enough to qualify as a real human crush in the Summer of Relentless Hormonal Idiocy. It was oxytocin and dopamine and memories to look back on with laughter and pride. It was stupid, and he was stupid, and it had worked.

Kissing Evelynn Decipio wasn’t a chore, but Leonard was also the type to think of dessert as personal punishment and washing the dishes as a riveting adventure through the chemical reactions of detergent and food grease. He could be polite to Evelynn, he could pretend that dream Emily Dickinson didn’t shrug off all responsibilities for their dream dates in order to spend time with dream Susan Gilbert, and he could hereafter be marked as someone who hadn’t missed out on what Marshal so loved. It all came back to Marshal, eventually, and he was willing to bungle their threads together so tight that he could choke as long as they never came loose.

“Any chance you’re jealous, mate?” He plopped back into a conspirational whisper, grinning with the knowledge that he’d done something that Marshal would most definitely be impressed by. Not jealous, obviously, considering the night was young and there were still a bunch of unkissed redheads to go through. Not jealous, obviously, considering that Marshal could always do better than him when it didn’t come to the lore of wizarding aglets.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be the most exciting partner here for anyone despite Decipio’s presence,” he tacked on not a breath afterwards, disallowing a response other than the expected smile, perchance an enthusiastic high five and a promise to spill all the nonexistent dirty details when they got back to their tent. Perchance Marshal responded differently. Perchance, then, Leonard Oaksworth would horrifically regret his wish to be right at all.

Action: Properly kissing Evelynn Decipio on the lips and having agricultural hypotheses in lieu of fun

Watching others take their turns as he waited for his, Jack noticed another of his dormmates grumbling about something. Then he saw another boy lean toward said dormmate - Percival Gray - and blinked, wondering what Percival would do. When he rolled his eyes, Jack thought he might back off, but instead, the pureblood surprised him by leaning forward to meet the other boy and kiss him on the lips.

Jack gaped, open-mouthed, as Percival finally withdrew, telling the other boy 'that's how you do a real kiss' with a pat on the shoulder. Jack whistled and clapped in admiration. He really hadn't expected the other Slytherin to do it and yet not only did he do it, but he seemed to give it his best effort.

Before long, the bottle had landed on Jack again. It was a boy who had gotten him; another unfamiliar boy who was probably from a different school. Had he known he had been compared to Peter Pan in Ronnie's head, he might have laughed since it hadn't been the first time he had reminded others of the storybook character.

"Hi there," he responded to the greeting from the dark-haired foreigner, smiling a little nervously though he had done his best to try to seem calm. Unlike the previous boy, however, this one actually told Jack he would hug him before he did so, so Jack actually had time to mentally prepare himself. "Oh...okay."

When the other boy spread his arms, Jack did the same and leaned forward as well to embrace the stranger. He was a nice-seeming kid; Jack would have to keep an eye on him and maybe learn more about him. Hopefully his hug wasn't going to be a bone-crushing hug like from Jack's former hugger. Other than that, Jack thought, the game wasn't going too badly. He still had yet to have to kiss anybody or even spin the bottle himself.

@Percival Gray & Verona Andréas (@Cassandra Ironwoods's iNPC)

ivy bellamy
interacting with miles thatcher @simon kincaid, @evelynn decipio
mentions @marshal mozor, @haley rose and @zykeal lane

Ivy couldn't deny that she was surprised. She had expected a quick, awkward hug; those who could see Ivy's face as they hugged would notice that a confused frown flitted across her face very briefly as he pulled her closer. For a moment, she considered the possibility that she'd gotten the story wrong. Maybe it was her and not Evelynn - the clear emotion behind this hug might have been enough proof for anyone else. What if her suspicions were correct? Ivy might have panicked and fled the tent right then and there.

But then she recalled the way Marshal looked at Evelynn, the way his eyes lit up every time she spoke, and she knew that this was nothing more than a friendly hug. Ivy recalled the kiss between Evelynn and the American boy from earlier that night, and felt her stomach twist uncomfortably. If even she who totally felt nothing but platonic affection towards Evelynn was unsettled by that kiss, then Marshal must have felt all of that and more. Especially since she was so oblivious to his feelings. Merlin's beard, for someone so smart, Eve could be so clueless when it came to romance. Pity and sadness for Marshal flooded through her, and Ivy squeezed him back affectionately before stepping away. She did not miss the ghost of a smile that flashed across his face before he returned to his seat.

The game went on. Ivy would hold her breath at Zykeal Lane's turn to spin the bottle. He was a past crush of hers, and things seemed to have been going perfectly fine until... they weren't. Ivy still didn't completely understand what went wrong. All of that was a long time ago, and they were hardly more than strangers nowadays... but it would probably still be awkward if they ended up having to kiss. Thankfully, his bottle stopped at Haley Rose - a girl on the Quidditch team. Ivy watched Zykeal's reaction to her attempt at a hug with increasing amusement. She glanced over at Evelynn and tried to smother her smile. "Well... anyway."

Her good mood would quickly disappear when Leonard spun the bottle on Evelynn and kissed her. Remembering the emotion behind their hug, Ivy instantly glanced over at Marshal to gauge his reaction. She couldn't deny how much this was unnerving her as well, and with a slight frown, she pondered why Evelynn seemed so determined to kiss and be kissed tonight. There was nothing wrong with wanting romance at their age, but to Ivy, Eve had always seemed like the kind of girl who put love and dating at a very low point on her priority list. Perhaps she didn't know her best friend as well as she thought she did. Ivy shifted uncomfortably in her seat and got up to grab a glass of water. Best not to think too hard about these things.

Before she knew it, it was her turn to spin again. She couldn't help but laugh a little when it landed on the same guy Evelynn had kissed, glancing to her side to share an amused look with her friend. Walking to the middle of the room, Ivy considered how to approach this. Well, she had won Prettiest Lionness for the yearbook that year - tied for first place with Evelynn. Why not give the American a kiss from both tonight? Ivy flashed him a quick smile before cupping his face with her hands and kissing him. There was a little hesitation, barely noticeable, as Evelynn's face flashed in her mind all of a sudden, but she quickly reminded herself that it was just a game.

Still, as she kissed him, she couldn't help but feel as though she was betraying someone or something...

action: attempting to kiss miles

cielle johansen
interacting with olive adair @sienna lenoir
mentions hadrian zuheir @aurelia notresvace

Cielle would look back to where Hadrian sat as she broke away from Charles. A twinge of guilt would flash across her face as she noticed him looking away, almost as if he didn't want her to know that he had been watching. The night was still early, though, so there was plenty of time for them... whatever. Cielle took her seat again and tried to brush it off. They weren't even officially dating. And even if they ended up as a couple in the next few days, summer was almost over anyway. Long distance would be a pain in the ass, and Cielle's voice of reason told her that it was ridiculous to be feeling so much for this guy she didn't have a chance with.

But jealousy would set in when another girl spun the bottle on Hadrian before her. A very beautiful girl, in fact - a redhead, with green eyes and a pouty mouth. Cielle knew she was pretty as well, but it was a different kind of 'pretty'. She looked on as Hadrian kissed her on the forehead, lips thinning slightly in displeasure, and avoided his glances as he walked back, trying not to sulk.

Her bottle would land on a girl she didn't know. Cielle had no problems with kissing people of her own gender. She'd known she was gay for a really long time, even before she understood what the word "gay" actually meant. Girls were pretty. Guys were attractive as well. Brushing off the envy at Hadrian's kissing the redhead, Cielle stood up and planted a quick kiss on the younger girl's lips. Delivered with a friendly grin, it was hardly anything passionate or emotional, but it would do the job, and hopefully the other girl would reciprocate.

action: attempting to kiss olive

Stunning Banner by Winnie Harper

Interactions: @Leonard Oaksworth =======

Mentions: @Evelynn Decipio ======@Ivy Bellamy

His contrite gaze was returned in flickering gold, curled lips and the tip of a glass contending with the essence of an unspoken apology. The silent response drew lids to a hooded pose, bewilderment unbridled in his agitated mind.
To what meaning could a response like that be assigned? Implications suggested something that might resemble approval, or perhaps encouragement. But of what could Evelynn approve, and for which sake would she offer encouragement? The embrace, while reciprocated and even prolonged, had been born in the palm of reassurance - a brief comfort offered by the whims of a twirling cruet. Despite the triviality, it had captured him in a moment of dejection, and of aversion. In need of warmth to expel the cold in a hollow chest, he’d invited Ivy in.
But now, he wished he hadn’t.

Silvered eyes bathed in flame left him. And so did the warmth.

The sand governed his concentration as fresh victims were elected. And while they caroused - be it with timid intimations of sentiment, or brazen displays of physical enwrapment - he pondered potential solutions to remedy whatever misconceptions populated Eve’s thoughts. Their exact nature yet escaped his perception, but it was evident in her actions that reality escaped her own.
Perhaps he could explain, and perhaps she would understand. Perhaps his tongue could form those three words his hand had composed so easily for the yearbook, and perhaps she wouldn’t roll her eyes… Perhaps she wouldn’t walk away.
But then, fate possessed a vicious sense of humor, and it seemed he would remain the butt of the joke.

Leonard’s second spin would overrule the sand for his attention, distant eyes lifting to observe the bottle’s pirouette, initiated by the passage of pale fingers. The result nearly extracted a twisted guffaw from his lungs, conceived within some sense of sheer, hideous irony. But the sound lodged in his throat, seizing his airway as though he were being suffocated once again. And in the rapidly approaching future, he would come to desire nothing more.

An immediate look of appeal was thrust in Leo’s direction, built upon a foundation of hysteria. Words shunned his open mouth, though the sanctity of the game may have spurned them regardless. To verbally demand a participant to disgrace its covenant would be uncouth. Though that offense was, of course, infinitesimal in relation to the sin that his best friend was about to commit.

Through desperate pleas in hazel eyes would Leo push. Past the blond hairs of a shaking head he would brush. And onto Evelynn’s lips he did press.
So this was what hell looked like.

One second. Tick.
The image that would forever torment his mind was that which depicted his best friend’s clammy lips, intimately entwined with those of the girl who held his dreams.
Two seconds. Tick.
To think he had seen a ghost would utterly fail to substantiate the haunted visage that had befallen him. Like a portrait rendered without pigment or depth, his face adopted the pallid hue of parchment, while his eyes drained of the life that made him appear human.
Three seconds. Tick.
As Leo’s hand skimmed Eve’s shoulder, Marshal subconsciously shifted forward.
Four seconds. Tick.
The nonexistent space between the two individuals who had hitherto interacted like oil and water became but a thought of the harrowing past. Every muscle in the boy’s body ached to wrench them apart, to tear the scene from the eternities into which it was stretching. As if the ungrateful benefactor of Evelynn’s own spin hadn’t enjoyed her kiss for long enough to destroy Marshal’s soul, Leonard seemed determined to kill him slowly, sucking away more of his spirit with every ticking second.
Tick. Five seconds.
Finally - mercifully - the basis of his torture came to an end, though its effects would linger in the ashen set of his features as Leo reclaimed a position at his side.

And then that same snake would hiss.
“Any chance you’re jealous, mate?”

Of all the people for Marshal to want dead. Rafael D’Spacito came to mind. Arjan Oberoi also took his oversized place in the lineup, trailed by a slithering Mathias Pride. All had purchased permanent residences in the limited purview of the Gryffindor’s personal malice. Each name evoked a measure of the darkest emotion to occupy his repertoire, and yet none of them had yet claimed the honor of a true desire for ultimate recompense.
In that moment - that one, singular moment following the Slytherin’s words - faced with a smile that certainly appeared to be shaded with ill intent from his current point of view, Leo did not reach that level of murderous desire either. Not quite. But amidst mixed sensations of revulsion and jealousy, he came closer than any of those tenured blacklist residents.

The simple fact that the face staring cheerfully back at him belonged to his best friend became the only string that didn’t snap under the strain of preventing his fist from going through Leonard’s teeth. And yet, in absence of physical violence, the look with which he fixed the other boy might well have inflicted more significant damage.
He said nothing, opting to keep the boiling heat in his eyes from escaping his mouth.
Given the amount of time Marshal spent with Evelynn, and the pointed nature of Leo’s comment, there was little doubt that the kiss hadn’t been aimed to cause him pain.
But why?
Buried beneath the dominant burn of fury was something deeper - something that he couldn’t allow himself to face.

He’d been betrayed.

Fixated solely upon his wand at the moment, he didn't notice much of the other interactions that happened between the crowd and their gestures towards each other. There was an air of complicated interaction upon the group but he felt himself a part of that mixture of tincture at the moment, for once, he was not the center of the drama-sphere and he'd rather like to keep it that way. Who knew what the night held though?

Those golden hues did shift up a few times, landing once upon his old flame of Ivy and her awkward interaction with the other Gryffindor boy and then once upon the teams' new quidditch Cap, Eve, who he was still quite unsure about. It wasn't long before his time came to stand once more, surprisingly, the game was moving faster than he'd expected and he had to stow that ivory-colored wand of his once more before he lifted himself and slowly walked towards the center where the bottle lay.

Another kick to the tip of the bottle and he watched it spin and land in a specific direction, to be honest, he didn't even look up when the bottle halted. The boy had already clocked each individual and their position in the circle, he knew who he landed on, the boy that the awkwardness seemed to be directed towards at this very moment. With slow steps, hands now stowed within the center pouch of his hoodie, he walked towards the kid and kneeled down to where the boy was seated at.

Finally, he'd shift his gaze upwards to look upon Marshal and he'd give a little smirk from underneath the hood of that hoodie of his, the boy looked annoyed and salty, every part of his being looked like it was annoyed with the entire situation that was unfolding before the poor soul in front of Zykeal. If the kid knew of Zyk at all, he'd know who his best friend was and what he'd know about the boy in general, "I suggest," he whispered, "you let it go," and he'd offer a wink towards the kid before standing up once more.

A shift of his dominant hand from the stowed pocket and he retrieved his wand once more to start spinning it in front of him, staring at Marshal for a moment more, before walking back towards where he was previously stationed. On his way over, he looked towards Eve for a moment and gave a devilish grin and a mock kiss in her direction. It wasn't above this teenager to mock his best friend's rivals and now that Rafa had resigned his position he had no problem playing with fire.

@Marshal Mozor | @Ivy Bellamy | @Evelynn Decipio
Action: Offering some advice, tinted with threats.

MODERATION POST—Round III

If any group of Twirl the Flagon had an unreasonably tilted predisposition for angst, it was this one. Self-denial, jealousy, insecurity, fear, desire, and every emotion in between had been set loose upon the cushioned premise like mosquitos descending upon a feast of campers. No amount of candles could ever hope to keep it all at bay.

Charles Alluring took his turn, gently teasing Haley about her less than exciting encounter in the first round. Hoping for a certain South American, he would spin, landing on Peter Percival Gray. Apparently the boy had the memory of a goldfish. At least he was pretty like one, too. Unafraid, he would lean in for the kiss. And, to everyone's likely astonishment, Percival would reciprocate and then some. Ronnie who? Santario look out. The Charcival is in town.

Haley Rose went next, making it clear as to why she was friends with Charles as the two both made googly eyes for Ronnie. Of course, the dice gods bottle seemed to know exactly what to do to inject a bit of chaos, denying her the satisfaction for the moment, and instead pairing her with Hadrian Zuheir. She had tried to give him the choice of the action, but he would hear nothing of it, returning control to the lady. Gentlemanly? Or just uninterested? By the way his gaze kept darting in Cielle's direction, it seemed he only had eyes for one person present.

Verona Andréas followed, departing from Olive with a wink and a salacious suggestion of more to come should luck be so kind. Jealousy seemed to stir unknown to him as he watched Charles partake in the game. His own spin would serve him well as it landed on the relatively unknown chatterfox, Jack Burnett. Playing it safe, he would go in for a hug, which was actually much to the latter's preference. The mental preparatory time, anyway. It gave him a moment to pick his jaw up from the floor of Gray's display and put his head back on straight.

Then came Leonard Oaksworth, expert book kisser, eager to prove to Marshal that he was capable of socializing like a normal child that didn't think about dirt during moments of intimate vulnerability. At least seven moments of early child-life crises would transpire during his observations of the game, not least of which being his absolutely ridiculous spike of jealousy to see Marshal hugging someone. Because, excuse you, who gave Ivy permission to touch his property best mate. Marnard will absolutely be a thing. Anyway, according to him, he had been handed the holy grail of yearbook gifts in the form of Evelynn Decipio, who had been sharpening her tongue (verbally, not literally). The question would remain: would she be as equally riveted by thoughts of agriculture amidst such an uncompelling show of oral acrobatics as Leo? Oh, and be sure to place your bets on whether Marshal decks Leo in the face.

Ivy Bellamy really was the unknown wing-woman of the night. Perhaps years down the line, she would look back on tonight and laugh, sharing thoughts to prove just how much of a good friend she really was. If Ivy isn't Marshal's best man at his wedding...Anyway, for now, she was too preoccupied with trying to convince herself of the definition of a "friend", getting that "friend's" sloppy (or rather dry, actually) seconds in the form of Miles Thatcher. The bottle had practically handed her the next best thing: an indirect kiss with her actual crush. Instead, Ivy would content herself with thoughts of giving the American a good kiss from a pretty face. Perhaps Evelynn had dashed his confidence, though, as the boy seemed disinterested in continuing the game.

Cielle Johansen would add to the buffet of inner monologue and delicious angst with some jealousy and definitely-not-sulking of her own, going so far as to deliberately avoid Hadrian's eye so as not to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was affected. Still, she would take it all in stride, hopping up to the target of the bottle when it landed on Olive Adair. In fact, Cici wouldn't even have to make the first move as Olive had beat her to the punch and crossed the circle to her. Grins exchanged, pretty looks silently but mutually acknowledged. Maybe the shared kiss would serve as the antidote to each of their dissatisfactory preoccupations elsewhere.

And then Marshal Mozor. Poor, poor Marshal Mozor. Zykeal Lane's bottle had spun and landed on him, but apparently if a girl could only receive a shoulder pat, Marshal was worth nothing at all. Or nearly nothing. Granted, it would be a marvel that he would even notice it. His world had been cast into premature pergatory as he was forced to gaze upon what he hadn't even realized was his worst nightmare and exercise a restraint from playing pretend in orthodontics. Zykeal would presume to interject into that torment, however, but with what sort of true intent would be anybody's guess. Advice was what it appeared to be superficially. But when delivered with such presumption... who was to say its effect.

THE BOTTLE HAS CHOSEN AGAIN!

Reducio

@Cielle Johansen (@Ivy Bellamy's iNPC) spins the bottle, and lands on @Ivy Bellamy
@Percival Gray spins the bottle, and lands on @Zykeal Lane
@Haley Rose spins the bottle, and lands on @Charles Alluring (@Henry Knight's iNPC)
@Hadrian Zuheir (@Aurelia Notresvace's iNPC) spins the bottle, and lands on @Jack Burnett
@Verona Andréas (@Cassandra Ironwoods's iNPC) spins the bottle, and lands on @Evelynn Decipio
@Leonard Oaksworth spins the bottle, and lands on @Marshal Mozor
@Olive Adair (@Sienna Lenoir's iNPC) spins the bottle, and lands on @Percival Gray

Additionally:
—The order of the spins listed is not necessarily the order they happen ICly, nor do they have to be posted in that order.
—@Miles Thatcher (@Simon Kincaid's iNPC) has not posted this round. It is presumed they have withdrawn, however, they are of course welcome to write a reactionary/exiting RP post.

Players have until Midnight on Tuesday, August 9th to post